


The Troubling Incongruence of Great Sex and Clean Up

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-16
Updated: 2008-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney sulks; John makes it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Troubling Incongruence of Great Sex and Clean Up

Rodney never ceased to be troubled by the incongruence between great sex and clean up. Prosaic sex should be followed, he reasoned, by prosaic acts – if the sex was so-so, who cared if you needed to hose down afterwards? But good sex – it was positively injurious to the proper order of the universe to consider that good sex required washcloths and showers and the building urge to take a leak just like bad.

"Totally kills the mood," Rodney said, shuffling into the bathroom after John, wrinkling his nose as John tossed his condom in the trash.

"What does?" John asked around a yawn, turning on the shower.

"This," Rodney said, grumpily wetting a wash cloth. He wasn't washing any more of him that he had to; he was already tired and in a mood. "We do . . . " He waved a hand. " _That_ ," he clarified helpfully, "and then it's nothing but sluicing come out of hair and – "

"The romance is dead?" John deadpanned.

Rodney flushed. "It would just be nice to have a moment to catch my breath before flashing back to my Health and Hygiene class in seventh grade." He turned his back on John and cleaned himself up. "And flannel can chafe after - _that_ , and I'm too tired to shower." He was whining now, he could hear it. "Shut up," he offered and threw the washcloth in the corner of the bathroom before he reached for toothbrush and toothpaste.

John tipped his head back under the shower spray. "You could always just not."

"Og yea," Rodney spluttered around his toothbrush, sighed, and pulled it out of his mouth. "And then I just end up a matted mess of spunk and the smell is _not_ sexy six hours later."

John soaped his armpits thoughtfully. "I always kinda liked the clean-up," he mused. "Piney," he offered, hitching a shoulder. "Refreshing."

"Well," Rodney huffed, unreasonably put out as he spat into the sink. "I'm sorry to be so _un_ -refreshing," and throwing his toothbrush back in the tumbler on the sink, he headed back to bed. He was half-asleep, but still sulking, when John padded out of the bathroom some time later.

"Hey," John said softly. "Come on, move up."

Rodney had, admittedly, thrown himself down on his belly in the middle of the bed, but moving really seemed like the absolute last straw. "You're probably wet too," he mumbled viciously, inching over to his side of the bed, still with his face mostly obscured by pillow.

John slid into bed beside him – oozed, thought Rodney churlishly; John had no right to be sexy and naked while Rodney was in a snit – and curled on his side, reached to drag a hand down the length of Rodney's spine. "You're pretty mad," he observed.

"Mad as in angry or mad as insane?" Rodney asked. "Because – "

John pressed one finger to Rodney's lips. "Mad as in angry," he murmured and inched in closer. "And I thought it was – " He frowned, made a face. "Did I hurt you?"

Rodney sighed, chest suddenly tight. "No, no, god, nothing like that, Jesus . . ."

John looked relieved. "I just – it was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes, it was fantastic, that's the point, don't you see?" Rodney asked, propping himself up on his elbows. "We do _that_ and then there's _that_ ," he summarized, waving at the bathroom, "and I just want . . . I wish . . ." He slumped back down with a heartfelt sigh. "God, I'm pathetic."

"Nah," John whispered, running one finger over the short, fine hairs at the back of Rodney's neck, making Rodney shiver. "I get it." And he bent and pressed his lips where his finger had been – a soft, closed-mouthed kiss to the very top of Rodney's spine.

Rodney whimpered, and his face grew hot. " _John_."

"Shhhhh," John murmured, and Rodney could feel him smile. The quiet, lazy intimacy of it made his eyes sting, made his ears itch, and okay, maybe he wasn't quite ready for his after-sex experiences to match the sex itself.

"I need to – "

John eased up just enough to let him roll over, draped himself over Rodney's body as soon as Rodney was still, nosed up beneath his chin. "You need a shave."

Rodney half-laughed, shakily. "Says _you_?"

"Expert," John grinned, and then kissed Rodney's shoulder, worked his way slowly over every inch of skin between his collarbone and his ear. "This better?" he asked, breath warm and damp against Rodney's earlobe, and Rodney swallowed hard, fumbled a hand to rest against John's side, whispered, "Um – yeah, this is . . . " and closed his eyes as John stole a slow, lush kiss. They didn't often kiss this way – they were too horny, too hurried, too tired to take the time – and Rodney couldn't help himself, whimpered quietly, arms stealing around John's broad back.

"I just, I like that we – " He babbled nervously the moment John's lips left his. "We're so – you know. I couldn't get – we couldn't get more . . . it's." He shook his head, looked down at the spot where John's chest rested against his. "Close," he confessed, cheeks burning, feeling awkward and embarrassed and furious that he couldn't just _say_ stuff, or better yet, not need to say things at all, just function like a regular human being and repress it all to hell. "It's – we're . . . and then . . . "

John nudged a kiss to his lips again, coaxed them open, touched Rodney's tongue with the very tip of his, held back until Rodney groaned in frustration and only then let the kiss grow deeper. By the time he pulled back, Rodney was dizzy and trembling, heart too big for his chest, beating too fast, and he kept his hands splayed on John's shoulder blades in case he had any thought of moving. He watched John watch him, his gaze moving from the receding line of Rodney's hair to his eyebrows, his ears, his chin, his mouth – another kiss, then, closed-mouthed and soft; chaste and sweet, enough to make Rodney's toes curl. "I like you," John said at last, as if he'd been chasing the words around inside himself, had needed time to figure out what they were.

Rodney nodded quickly. "Right. That's good then." He chewed on his bottom lip for fear he'd start babbling again, watched as John raised an eyebrow. "Oh, oh, oh, right, and I – I definitely like you too." John smiled, and god, Rodney thought, right there, the way his insides flipped to just see John happy, that was proof enough he was fucked. "Actually," he blurted, "I like you a lot. A lot, a lot. You know?"

And it was John's turn to grow a little pink around the edges, to duck his head and rub his nose along Rodney's collarbone, to glance back up and say, "Yeah. Me too."

Rodney nodded, throat tight, every hair on his body suddenly on end, and he raised his head, kissed John's forehead, kissed his temple, kissed his cheek. "Cold now," he whispered as if confessing some secret, and John obligingly shifted, pulled the sheets and blankets up from the bottom of the bed. They tugged them into place together, rearranged themselves on their sides, pressed close so that Rodney could smell the peppermint on John's exhaled breath. "Sorry," he whispered.

"None of that," John whispered back, winding their legs together, linking their hands. "Just sleep."

"Right, right," Rodney agreed. "Sleep is good, sleep is . . ." And he let out an unsteady breath, leaned forward to kiss John's forehead again, murmured, "thank you," before he settled back down, and the last thing he saw was the secret curve of John's best smile.


End file.
